THE
GHOSTS OF THE TREES.
|
|
The
silver fangs of the mighty axe,
Bit to the blood of our
giant boles;
It smote our breasts and smote our backs,
Thunder’d the front-cleared
leaves—
As
sped in fire,
|
5 |
The
whirl and flame of scarlet leaves,
With
strong desire
Leaped to the air our captive souls.
While down our corpses thunder’d,
The air at our strong souls gazed and wondered;
|
10 |
And
cried to us, “Ye
Are full of all mystery to me!
I saw but thy plumes of
leaves,
Thy sinewy roots and lusty
branches,
And fond and anxious,
|
15 |
I
laid my ear and my restless breast
By each pride-high crest;
And
softly stole
And listen’d by limb and listen’d by
bole,
Nor ever the stir of a soul,
|
20 |
Heard
I in ye—
Great is the mystery!”
The strong, brown eagle plung’d from his peak,
From the hollow iron of his beak; [Page
130]
The wood pigeon fell; its breast of blue
|
25 |
Cold
with sharp death all thro’ and thro’,
To
our ghosts he cried.
“With
talons of steel,
I
hold the storm;
Where the high peaks reel,
|
30 |
My
young lie warm
In the wind-rock’d spaces of air I bide;
My wings too wide—
Too angry strong for the emerald gyves,
Of woodland cell where the meek drove thrives.
|
35 |
And
when at the bar,
Of morn I smote with my breast its star,
And
under—
My wings grew purple, the jealous thunder,
With the flame of the skies
|
40 |
Hot
in my breast, and red in my eyes;
From peak to peak of sunrise
pil’d
That set space glowing,
With flames from air-based crater’s blowing—
I downward swept, beguiled
|
45 |
By
the close-set forest gilded and spread
A sea for the lordly tread,
Of a God’s war-ship—
I broke its leafy turf with my breast;
My
iron lip
|
50 |
I
dipp’d in the cool of each whispering crest;
From thy leafy steeps,
I saw in my deeps,
Red coral the flame necked oriole—
But never the stir of a soul [Page 131]
|
55 |
Heard
I in ye—
Great is the mystery!”
From
its ferny coasts,
The river gazed at our strong, free ghosts,
And with rocky fingers shed
|
60 |
Apart
the silver curls of its head;
Laid its murmuring hands,
On the reedy bands;
And
at gaze
Stood in the half moon’s of brown, still bays;
|
65 |
Like
gloss’d eyes of stags
Its round pools gaz’d from the rusty flags,
At our ghostly crests
At the bark-shields strong on our phantom breasts;
And
its tide
|
70 |
Took
lip and tongue and cried.
“I
have push’d apart
The
mountain’s heart;
I
have trod the valley down;
With
strong hands curled,
|
75 |
Have
caught and hurled,
To
the earth the high hill’s crown!
|
|
| |
My brow I thrust,
Through sultry dust,
That the lean wolf howl’d upon;
|
80 |
| |
I
drove my tides,
Between the sides,
Of the bellowing canon. [Page 132]
From the chrystal shoulders,
I hurled my boulders
|
85 |
| |
On
the bridge’s iron span.
When I rear’d my head
From its old time bed,
Shook the pale cities of man!
I
have run a course
|
90 |
| |
With
the swift, wild horse;
I have thunder’d pace for pace,
With the rushing herds—
I have caught the beards
Of the swift stars in the race!
|
100 |
| |
Neither
moon nor sun
Could me out-run;
Deep cag’d in my silver bars,
I hurried with me,
To the shouting sea,
|
105 |
| |
Their
light and the light of the stars!
The reeling earth
In furious mirth
With sledges of ice I smote.
I whirled my sword,
|
110 |
| |
Where
the pale berg roar’d,
I took the ship by the throat!
With stagnant breath
I called chill Death
My guest to the hot bayou. [Page 133]
|
115 |
| |
I
built men’s graves
With strong thew’d
waves
That thing that my strength might do.
I did right well—
Men cried “From Hell
|
120 |
| |
The
might of Thy hand is given!”
By loose rocks stoned
The stout quays groaned,
Sleek sands by my spear were riven.
O’er shining slides,
|
125 |
| |
On
my gloss’d tides,
The brown cribs close woven roll’d;
The stout logs sprung,
Their height among
My loud whirls of white and gold!
|
130 |
| |
The
great raft prest,
My calm, broad breast—
A dream thro’ my shady trance,
The light canoe—
A spirit flew—
|
135 |
| |
The
pulse of my blue expanse.
Wing’d swift the ships,
My foaming lips
Made rich with dewy kisses,
All night and morn,
|
140 |
| |
Field’s
red with corn,
And where the mill-wheel hisses. [Page 134]
And shivers and sobs,
With lab’ring throbs,
With its whirls my strong palms play’d.
|
145 |
| |
I
parted my flags,
For thirsty stags,
On the necks of arches laid.
To the dry-vined town
My tide roll’d down—
|
150 |
| |
Dry
lips and throats a-quiver,
Rent sky and sod
With shouts “From
God
The strength of the mighty river!”
I, list’ning, heard
|
155 |
| |
The
soft-song’d bird;
The beetle about thy boles.
The calling breeze
In thy crests, O Trees—
Never the voices of souls!”
|
160 |
—–
|
|
We,
freed souls, of the Trees look’d down
On the river’s shining eyes of brown;
And
upward smiled
At the tender air and its warrior child,
The
iron eagle strong and wild.
|
165 |
“No will of ours,
The captive souls of our barky tow’rs;
“His the deed
Who laid in the secret earth the seed; [Page
135]
And with strong hand
|
170 |
Knitted
each woody fetter and band.
Never,
ye
Ask of the tree,
The “Wherefore” or “Why”
the tall trees stand,
Built in their places on the land!
|
175 |
Their
souls unknit;
With any wisdom or any wit,
The subtle “Why,”
Ask ye not of earth or sky—
But one command it. [Page
136]
|
180 |
|
